


and you caused it

by girlwiththeradishearrings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1456249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwiththeradishearrings/pseuds/girlwiththeradishearrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb and his army have sacked King's Landing and come to rescue Sansa only to find the damage has already been done. He is too late. </p><p>The sight of him does not leech the coldness from her bones and she does not weep. “I want to go home,” was all Sansa gave and he would not ask for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you caused it

Robb’s knees snap as if they are broken. He falls to the floor, biting back a cry, body soaking up the impact as he hits the ground. The weathered chainmail beneath his armor jostles, quivering and wriggling like guts. There are tears in his eyes and blood on his armor. His chest plate is covered in it: speckles of red streaked through dirt and ash. His blood is there, too. A king’s blood, running rivers down his face reminding him he is not infallible.

He is mortal, and he is weak, and he is cowardly.

That is what he has realized, what he believes.

“Forgive me,” he spits from a tongue salted in anguish. “Sansa, please forgive me.” His breath is hot on her hands as it leaks from his gasping mouth. The sight of him does not leech the coldness from her bones and she does not weep. Instead, she tastes the blood on her lip, dragging her tongue along the stinging split of skin. It was Joffrey’s last gift to her before a sword got caught in his belly.

She tastes blood of the First Men on her tongue. She remembers. _Blood of my father, blood of me_ ; crusted in fat drops on the hem of her dress, blood pumping out of Meryn Trant’s stump arm on the throne room floor, red spilling like wine on the smooth, glossy marble. Blood bubbling beneath her skin, raising her flesh, blackening her cheeks. Blessings from the Kingsguard, fore they were the gods amongst these halls. Prick of her finger, drop of crimson sliding from her thumb, treacherous thorns in the garden. Sticky blood drying brown on the steps of Baelor. Traitor’s blood. A pool of crimson leaking into the silk of her slippers. Black oozing like drool from Joff’s mouth, facedown on the throne steps, crossbow tossed from his fingers.

Robb wants her forgiveness and she shall give it to him. A king should not be denied, Sansa has learned. But she will not give it to him so dearly, so sweetly. The words will not drift gracefully, kind and soft into his lap. He would earn her forgiveness, it would not be bought with the bodies of the dead. Robb may have put Blount and Trant to the sword, steel intruding their guts and stealing away their lives with each grotesque thrust, swords wet and red, but he did not take away the flinch of her face before the strike. She could still blink and feel the gauntlet sting, contacting cheekbone and fletching the skin of her jaw raw. The bruises on her wrists still felt fingerprints groping, tight metal vice snaking up her arm.

“I want to go home,” was all Sansa gave and he would not ask for more.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Youth" by Daughter. 
> 
> "It was a flood that wrecked this heart... and you caused it." 
> 
> I thought it fit with a bitter Sansa. She's very ooc in this but I needed to write her the way I felt when Robb never came to rescue her. I wanted him to help her so badly, wanted her to be happy, but at this point she's already suffered, the damage is done and no amount of apologies is going to retract what has been done to Sansa. 
> 
> So I wrote her cold and apathetic. 
> 
> I hope it's not awful.


End file.
